At the age of 14, when my friends huddled up to tell each other stories
Of previous nights and coming long drives,
Secretly wishing for the one I liked to like me,
My mother asked me if I liked boys.
I did. And I told her.
She gasped a little
Then let me go.
At the age of 18, I was in a railway station when I saw her
In a sari, decked up.
With flowers in her hair and I felt something.
Attraction? Nothing mild about it.
I was attracted to her, her voice, the calm with which she looked at me.
She moved on, person to person
Doing what she has been doing for so long
I wished she blessed me a little longer.
I wished it lingered over my cheeks.
She was gone before I could ask her anything
But I asked me.
Do I like her?
I did. I told me.
My station was here.
At the age of 22, my heart took me to bed.
In my state of confusion,
Of loving so many people,
I hoped I loved them like I did the others.
They held my heart down along with my body
And I gave in to this ravenous, hungry love.
They asked me if I loved them.
I told them.
In them, I found my every day.
But I’ll always know, I’d love everyone else too.
Pooja Nair, restless planeteer and crazy about all doggos. Filter coffee and dosa for friendships. Follow me on @karmic_dev for a lot of useless (and fun) information.
This poem was originally published on Gaysi. Read the original poem here.
Featured image credit: Amy McRae/Flickr